


liar!

by Granspn



Series: queen in 3d [3]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: disclaimer: i have no idea wtf im doing at any minute of the day?, i just like writing them having conversations and also singing songs, this doesnt get like... angsty? but its not pure comedy like lover boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-13 20:34:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17494886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Granspn/pseuds/Granspn
Summary: just another day at band practice means just another day of classic scrapes and cheeky bants for our boys, I should think





	liar!

**Author's Note:**

> back to our regularly scheduled programming with another tribute to one of my favorite favorite songs! I kind of love the challenge of describing their music in words and thinking about the songwriting process as well so this is what came of that

Things were already in full swing when Roger deigned to finally show up at rehearsal. But hey, it wasn’t his fault he’d woken up in some bird’s unfamiliar flat on the opposite side of London to the college and had to find his way back there on the bus, scared and alone, uphill both ways in the snow. Which was how he’d planned on defending himself when he arrived. However, when he finally entered the practice room he was utterly taken aback by what he saw. 

“Oh, hello, Roger,” Freddie said from his perch on the piano bench, but Roger ignored his greeting.

“Oh. My. God. Brian, what have you done to your hair?” It appeared to have exploded all around his head, forming a mop of thick brown curls instead of the puff ball of frizz Roger had come to know and love.

“What? Nothing. I didn’t have time to get ready this morning. This is just what it does on it’s own,” Brian answered ambivalently as he continued adjusting his tremolo bar. 

“Well, it’s incredible! It’s ridiculous!”

“Yes, what a revelation; our Brian has curly hair,” Freddie said, dismissing Roger’s outburst. 

“Yes, but look at it!” Roger insisted. 

“Well I like it, Brian” Freddie said, “I think you should keep it like that.” Brian looked up with a blank expression at the two of them and glanced at Deaky for commiseration, who just shrugged.

“Okay. Thanks, Fred. Can we move on from the subject of my hair, please? What have we got on, now we’ve got a drummer?” 

“Ah, I’m glad you asked. We’ve got something very grand, today. It needs a good riff, Bri, and I have one in mind. Also, it needs three solos, at least! Guitar _and_ drums _and_ bass, so get thinking once you hear how it goes.”

“Sounds epic,” Deaky said from across the room.

“Oh, it will be. Monumentously so,” Freddie confirmed. He went on, “It’s still got a bit of the Christian bend because I like the grand scale of it so much, but don’t worry about it or read too much into the lyrics, okay, darlings? Okay. It starts like this.” 

On the lid of the piano, he tapped out four and one third of a triplet. _Clap_. Four more. _Clap clap._

“Think you can handle that?” Brian and Deaky nodded. “Okay. Roger, let’s get that on a snare.” He dutifully tapped out the rhythm while his bandmates clapped along.

_One-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three, one- clap. One-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three clap-clap._ Four times, then Freddie motioned for Brian to join him behind the piano so he could follow his left hand to play chords and his right to learn the riff. 

“The hook is like this.” He pounded out a chord on the keyboard which Brian echoed, the wailing of his guitar subdued by the low volume of his amp. The Freddie played a series of arpeggios which sounded lovely of course but tremendously multiplied in power when Brian repeated them, his long fingers dancing across the fretboard at record speed, but never too fast for Deaky to eyeball and bang out some rhythm bass in perfect time. 

“Then there’s a bit of a jam, we can work that out later. The lyrics come in like this.” Freddie continued marking the chords for Brian and John while Roger churned out a simple beat better than any click track for them to learn the song to. 

“ _I have sinned dear father. Father, I have sinned. Try and help me, father. Won’t you let me in?”_ He sang, the melody simple as they sometimes were but beautiful as always. “That’s when we all go, “ _Liar!_ It’s like a call and response, you see. Then me: _Nobody believes me_. Then you. _Liar!”_

He went on teaching them the song like that, handing scribbled copies of the lyrics to Brian and Roger and vaguely indicating they should share with Deaky if he so desired. Of course, there were about fifteen different sections to get through and solos to write and riffs to perfect, but that was business as usual when it came to Mercury compositions. And it’s not as if they’d want it any other way. The sheer chaos the four of them radiated may have scared the bootlaces of any stranger that accidentally stumbled into the university practice room while Queen nee Smile had booked it, but Freddie could hardly do anything to shock Brian, Roger, and John anymore. 

After they’d been at it long enough to be just getting into a real groove, there was a faint knock at the door, then a creaking as someone tentatively pushed it open. A young woman with thick glasses and a sensible corduroy skirt peered into the small studio.

“Is one of you Fa-Far-um?” She struggled to read something off a sticky note. “Hm. Is there a Mr. Bulsara in here? I have a phone call for you.” Freddie rolled his eyes.

“Must be my parents. I’ll be right back, lads,” he said as he begrudgingly let the secretary lead him back to the front office to take the call. Anticipating he’d be a while, Brian made his way away from the piano to fiddle with his amplifier settings.

“Well,” Deaky said as soon as Mr. F– Bulsara had left the room, “I guess Freddie’s gay.” Brian's eyebrows shot well into his hairline.

“Could be,” Roger said noncommittally. 

“He said he didn’t want us reading too much into the lyrics,” Brian said, taking a seat on top of his readjusted amp. Ever the scientist, he told himself, he wished not to jump to conclusions.

“Don’t worry, I’ve barely skimmed them,” Deaky said, reaching over to grab Roger’s copy from where they sat atop one of his toms. Roger snorted, suppressing a laugh. 

“Well it’s hardly our business, is it?” Brian continued with his second line of reasoning.

“Not really, no,” Roger answered, standing up from behind the drums and coming over to take his lyrics back from Deaky, “Let me see that.” 

John spun around to keep Roger from grabbing the sheet and instead read from it. “They keep calling me liar, everything you do is sin, father please forgive me–“

“Yeah, and ‘why don’t you leave me alone _?’”_ Brian mumbled. 

“You know, I don’t have a problem with it or anything,” John said innocently.

“Didn’t say you did,” Brian said.

“I just don’t like the thought of him living in denial,” Deaky concluded, punctuating his thought by taking Roger’s seat behind his kit while the drummer was still hovering in the middle of the studio. 

At that point, Roger rather aggressively stripped off the chunky cardigan he’d been wearing and chucked it over to where their bags sat by the door to reveal a silky sleeveless top with some elegant embroidery at the top. 

“Ugh!” He remarked eloquently, taking a seat directly on the beige carpeted floor. He was met with raised eyebrows and otherwise skeptical expressions as was basically the default for Brian and John.

“Yes?” Deaky said. 

“I just don’t know what to do for him,” Roger explained, trying not to whine while he did it. "What he wants from me. What he needs.” 

“Of course not,” Deaky said, “None of us do, not really. I’m sure he’ll come to us when he needs help.”

“What is this song, then, if not that very moment, Deaks?” This time, Roger didn’t get anything back. He rolled his eyes and shook his head to himself, disappointed in his bandmates’ as well as his own total fucking inefficacy at friendship. After a minute went by in silence, Roger hoisted himself off the floor, taking the long way back to his drums so he could wack mopey Brian on the back of the head for good measure along the way.

From where he sat on his amp, his head in his hands, inky curls hanging well over his eyes, Brian finally spoke. “I just worry about Mary, I suppose.”

“Yes, I’m sure we all do,” Roger said, grabbing his copy of the lyrics back from John and shoving him off of his stool, “but it’s really not our place to go meddling with her–“ he stopped his sentence short when Freddie walked back in. The telepathic message of “ _act natural!”_ that Brian had tried to beam directly into Roger and Deaky’s brains clearly hadn’t transmitted because Freddie immediately noticed the uncomfortable stunned silence he’d apparently created.

“Everything all right, dears? I could cut the tension in here with a knife!” He said, casually enough, as he moved to take back his seat behind the piano.

Roger glared at Brian. “Don’t worry about it. Everything fine at home?” He asked, succeeding, at least, at sounding remotely sincere.

“Oh, yes, yes,” Freddie answered, waving him off, clearly eager to forget the whole thing. “Just some toss about a dinner next Sunday that I simply must help them prepare for. I’ll get Kash to do it instead, I’m sure she owes me one.”

“All right, cool, cool,” Roger said. He twirled his drumsticks and banged out a short lick. “Back to it?”

“Like I never left,” Freddie said. “Now, where were we?”

**Author's Note:**

> so yeah, there's that. lmk what you think and if there's anything you want to see! i absolutely love reading your comments!!


End file.
